


A Completely Normal Night in Kirkwall Where Nothing Stupid, Insane, or Dangerous Happens At All

by zinjadu



Series: Never Put Together Entirely [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Friendship, Gen, Purple Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 16:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: The title is a lie.Marian Hawke has a special pair of dice that only make an appearance when the gang is drunk enough to think they're a good idea.  The dice were not a good idea.Thank you toPoboProbablyfor the beta!





	A Completely Normal Night in Kirkwall Where Nothing Stupid, Insane, or Dangerous Happens At All

“I can’t watch!” Merrill exclaimed, clapping her hand over her eyes.

 

“I can!” Isabela called out eagerly, leaning forward on the dagger-notched table.  

 

The dice rolled and bounced wildly as they hit a particularly deep gouge in the wood and finally clattered to a stop.  Marian peered down at the dice, a frown knotting her black brows. Normally, when the dice stopped people laughed. Even Fenris.  But instead a puzzled silence filled the air around their table. Merrill peeked out between her fingers and glanced down.

 

“What does that one mean?” she asked.  Hawke took another swig of ale, still trying to suss out the pictogram on the second die.  It was the one they’d never been able to figure out what it meant. The rest were obvious, things like performing poetry or carving graffi, but this one.  This one had never come up before, and now it was time to figure out what she had to--she glanced at the other die--in Hightown.

 

Anders squinted at the die with thankfully brown and not creepy glowing eyes.  He didn’t drink often, but when he did Justice seemed to go away for a pout. She’d never seen Justice show up while Anders was drunk.  Maybe they should keep him just the right amount of drunk, just to piss off the stupid, self-righteous spirit. Drunk Anders was a lot more fun than Sober-and-might-become-an-abomination Anders.

 

“I think it means… something about a goat?”  He did not sound confident, and Fenris snorted.

 

“You people and goats.  That is not a goat, or an animal at all,” Fenris rumbled.

 

“Well, what is it then?” Anders snapped.  Marian rolled her eyes. Not this again. These two, always bitching and arguing about who had it worse.  Like it was a contest to see who had the most fucked life. 

 

It was  _ her _ , for having to put up with  _ both _ their lives.

 

“If it is a goat, Hawke, I know someone who can get us one,” Isabela drawled, shooting Marian a smirk.  

 

“You know a farmer?” Merrill asked.  The girl let her hand fall away from her eyes to glance at the pirate.

 

“Ah, no, I don’t.”  For once Fenris, Anders and Marian agreed on something and they all snorted in amusement at Isabela’s rare hesitation to provide a full explanation.  With details. Merrill’s brows furrowed in confusion, and she was about to ask a question when Fenris glanced up from grimly staring at the die.

 

“It’s not a goat,” he insisted.  “It’s a ridiculous hat, obviously.”

 

“Fenris, I know ridiculous hats, and that is  _ not _ a hat,” Isabela countered hotly, pointing at the die and what could not be a hat by her standards.  

 

“It’s a person  _ wearing _ a hat,” he insisted.

 

“Now you’re just changing your tune, because you’re wrong.  Very wrong.” Isabela’s tone was definite, and she glared at Fenris from across the table.

 

“Very well, then, oh mighty arbiter of  _ hats _ .  What else could it be?” Fenris asked dryly.

 

“Oh I don’t know, I never could figure it out,” Isabela replied airly.  “You’re the ones who are getting worked up about it. I just know its  _ not _ a hat.  And what kind of dare is that?  Wear a hat in Hightown? Who would care?”

 

“Ah, but it would be a  _ ridiculous _ hat,” Anders opined, waving his finger as if about to give a lecture.  “You would have to stand out, oh say, in front of the Viscount’s estate in front of all those high and mighty folks and wear something truly terrible.”

 

“Honestly, I can’t imagine a worse fate,” Marian drawled.  Picking up the die, she held it close to her eye and examined the pictogram from multiple angles.  She squinted and extended her arm, as if that would bring it into better focus.

 

“Kind of looks like someone running?  I’d run naked through Hightown,” Marian said.  

 

“Hawke, I you have run naked through Hightown,” Anders said.  “Remember? It was last year, on your birthday.”

 

“Oh yeah!  Ha, I’d forgotten that,” Marian said with a smile.  “I’d forgotten most of that birthday.”

 

“You try to forget  _ all _ your birthdays, Hawke,” Anders said.  She chucked the die down and drew herself up to reply.  Just because he was right didn’t mean he could--

 

“Oh!  I know what that is!” 

 

Merrill smiled proudly at the rest of them, then blinked one eye then the other.  Marian didn’t think it was an attempt at a wink, though watching Merrill trying to wink was its own kind of entertainment.  No, this was probably Merrill blinking while drunk.

 

“Kitten, you got to tell us what it is,” Isabela said sweetly, patting the girl on the shoulder.

 

“Right, yes.  It’s a tree! I bet you’re supposed to climb a tree.  Probably not the Vhelendal, though, I don’t think the elves here would like that, a human climbing a tree,” Merrill rambled.

 

“Merrill, the other die says Hightown, not Lowtown,” Anders told her, pointing to the location die.  It had a little tower facing up, and Marian wondered who had picked that to symbolize the most boring part of town.  Merrill perked up instantly.

 

“That’s even better!  I know where some good trees are!”

 

Isabela caught Marian’s eye and shrugged, silently saying that was a good a guess as any.   Marian drummed her fingers on the table, and then took a thoughtful sip of ale. With as much dignity as she could muster in her current state, she set the mug down and raised a hand in the air.

 

“To the gardens!”

 

With varying levels of grace and sobriety, they staggered from the Hanged Man, the guardsmen on duty giving them all a wide berth.  Aveline and Donnic were still on their honeymoon, and she was pretty sure the rest of the guard were still in awe of her for the whole killing the Arishok thing.

 

Behind her, she heard Fenris muttering something, but she wasn’t paying attention.  Her head felt just that right amount fuzzy that everything seemed like a good idea, and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

 

* * *

 

“So when you said you know where good trees are, did you mean a wall?  Because this is a wall,” Anders trailed off, eyes locked on the imposing edifice in front of them.  

 

“There was a gate last time I was here!” Merrill cried, suddenly near tears.  Marian peered at the gate, blinking to keep her vision clear. Sure enough, she could see where the older stone gave way to the newer stone, closing up what was likely the very gate Merrill used to access the private garden.

 

“It’s alright, Kitten,” Isabela consoled. “I’m sure we can find you flowers some other way.”  She bore up the slight girl as best she could now that Merrill had accept the aid with all the grace and enthusiasm of a disappointed cat.  Fenris, however, was staring up at the high walls of the palacial Hightown estate as though it had personally offended him.

 

“Hawke,” he said sharply, “I hate these people.”

 

“What?  I mean, you hate a lot of people Fenris.  Going to need more than that to go on.” She took a swig of the wine they’d gotten from… somewhere.  Probably not Fenris’s cellar. He didn’t let Merrill down there since she’d knocked over a whole rack on accident.

 

“No, I remember something, too,” Isabela said, frowning as she struggled to recall something.  “Just after you got your house. We were celebrating. And… and…”

 

“They kept calling the guard on us!” Anders cried, suddenly indignant.  “And we weren’t even being  _ that _ loud.  So unfair when they threw a big party the week before!”

 

“It’s not right that they put flowers and trees behind walls,” Merrill sobbed.  Marian passed the bottle to her and she drank between hiccups. 

 

“More to the  _ point _ ,” Fenris growled, glaring at them all.  After three years, they were mostly inured to Fenris’s glares, however, and they just waited on his dramatic reveal.  “They tried to have my house boarded up. Claimed I was an  _ itinerant squatter. _ ”

 

“Well, you are a—” Anders mumbled.

 

“And they tried to claim that they had a right to my wine!”

 

“No!” Isabela gasped.

 

“They’re so  _ mean _ !” Merrill cried.

 

Marian eyed the wall.  The die and the mission could wait.  This was more important. This was about  _ wine _ .

 

“Let’s teach them a lesson,” she declared.  Fenris grinned.

 

* * *

 

They’d scaled the wall easily enough, Marian boosting everyone up before she climbed it herself.  Now they were on the other side and off to find a garden. Well, everyone except Merrill.

 

“Merrill, just  _ jump _ , for Maker’s sake,” Anders exhorted nervously.  

 

“Don’t rush her!” Isabela bit back.  Fenris stood off a distance, impatiently tapping his foot.

 

“It just seems so  _ high _ now,” Merrill said weakly, her bare feet kicking anxiously in the air.  She peered down nervously, and attempted to lower herself to jump. But then she scooted back to a more secure perch.

 

“Come on, Merrill, I can help,” Marian said and braced her back against the eight foot high wall.  “Just step onto my shoulders.” Merrill slid off the top of the wall and perched on Marian’s shoulders.  Marian then tried to kneel down to let Merrill step off her shoulders easily, but the ground wasn’t even.  It had little dips and knots, and unlike cobblestones, it was all covered in grass so she couldn’t see the evil tricky ground.

 

And she tripped.

 

Merrill’s arms cartwheeled as her perch fell over, and she fell backwards onto to Anders.  Not expecting someone to fall on him, Anders could only stare dumbfounded as she fell and knocked him back against the high wall with a dull thud and a plaintive, drawn out  _ ooooow _ .

 

Fenris stood at a remove, grimacing as usual, and Isabela ran to help Merrill up.  Then together the two women helped up Anders. No one came to  _ Marian’s _ rescue, though, and wasn’t that just the usual way of it.  Maybe if Varric was here? No, he’d begged off tonight because he was writing a new chapter—something about Aveline being an inspiration.  That was why the dice had come out in the first place. Without Varric or Aveline to nix them, the will of the dare dice was law.

 

With a grunt, Marian levered herself up off the ground.

 

“Sorry about that, didn’t go so well.  Honestly, whose idea was it that ground should be so bumpy?” she grumbled and brushed dirt off her clothes.  Or she tried. Some of that seemed pretty ground in. More for Orana to do, she supposed.

 

“You can either blame the Maker or the gardener, your choice,” Anders said in a sing-song voice.  He was far more cheerful for being landed on than Marian would have guessed, but he was shifting his robes with great aplomb and tossed his head like a cat after it had bathed itself.

 

“Why not both?” Marian asked.  Isabela snorted in amusement as she slunk forward to the servant’s entrance.  It was nice, as far as servant’s entrances went, with a little roof over the door and everything.  The pirate knelt and started to fiddle with the lock. No one had said they were going to break into the place, it was merely by unspoken agreement that these people needed to be taught a lesson about private property and alcohol rights.

 

The tumblers in the lock turned with a soft click, and Isabela smiled.  Standing, she waggled her fingers and eyebrows at the same time and whispered, “Ah, these fingers still have the…  _ touch _ .”

 

“Ugh,” Fenris grunted, but Anders and Merrill giggled.  Marian laughed, too, and mostly at Fenris. It was predictable, but it was a good kind of predictable.  

 

“Come on, let’s get into the cellar,” Marian urged.  She had a mission now. Single file, they crept through the house, and she took point.  All the estates in Hightown were built along similar lines, like one architect had designed them all, and she made a bee-line through the kitchen and to the door of the cellars.  She tested the handle and it turned without any protest.

 

Grin as sharp as any of her blades, she glanced over her shoulder at her friends.

 

“Time for a little payback.”

 

* * *

 

“Think we got enough?” Anders asked wryly as he held up the two bottles of whiskey he carried.  There had been more than wine in that cellar, and after treating themselves to a celebratory mug of ale from a barrel they cracked open, they each took what they could.

 

Marian approved of the whiskey. Isabela had gone for the rum and Fenris took a singlebottle that had been tucked away on a high shelf.

 

Merrill had swiped some ginger beer.  It wasn’t even alcoholic, but then any more and the girl might keel over right where she stood.

 

“To thievery!” Isabela cheered, holding aloft her rum.

 

“To free liquor!” Marian crowed.  They still hadn’t reached the garden wall.  She couldn’t remember it taking so long to go that distance before.

 

Just as she reached the wall, a scream ripped through the night: “We’ve been robbed!”

 

Five heads swiveled to stare at each other in drunken bewilderment.

 

“They’re outside!”  It was a high pitched woman’s voice.  Then a lower man’s voice rang out, “Release the hounds!”

 

“Oh shit,” Isabela said, eyes wide, but didn’t move.  None of them moved. 

 

Then Marian hissed, “ _ Run _ .”

 

They ran, bottles still in hand, and made it to the wall as the hounds—not Mabari thankfully—rounded the far corner of the house.  Their heads were lowered and their paws thudded at the ground. Isabela was already halfway up the wall and was hauling Merrill up.  Anders scrambled frantically to the top, a lifetime of escaping proving its worth, while Fenris clawed his way up the wall. That left Marian at the bottom.

 

“Jump!” Fenris urged, holding his hand out for her.  She stared at the two bottles, one held in each hand.  She’d have to let one go. She frowned.

 

“Damn it, jump!” Fenris barked.  Marian raised her head and turned around to face the dogs still charging her, barking and snarling.  She drew in a deep breath and bellowed right back at them, all drunken indignation. Then she threw one of the bottles, and it smashed right in front of the animals.  The dogs yipped and yowled and skittered to a halt. Marian turned her back on the frightened dogs and jumped. Fenris caught her hand and hauled her up and over the wall.  They jumped off on the other side, where, miraculously, she managed to keep her feet. 

 

She sighed, resting her back to the wall.  The couple was still yelling for the guards, but they would be a while in arriving.  

 

“That was a twenty-five year whiskey,” she lamented.  The other bottle was another one of the same, but it was the principal of the thing.

 

Then three bottles sailed over the wall, breaking on the grassy ground and sending the dogs running.  But only three. All eyes turned to Fenris who still held his mystery bottle in one hand.

 

“You are mad if you think I am wasting this vintage for no reason,” he intoned and clutched it to his chest protectively.

 

“You know, I can’t fault you on that,” Marian said.  

 

“That’s them!” someone shouted.  They turned to see a man in a night robe and fuzzy pink slippers pointing at them with imperious anger.  “It has to be them!”

 

“Champion?” one of the guards with him asked cautiously.

 

“Shit!  Run!”

 

They ran, leaving confused guardsmen, irate homeowners, and the scent of alcohol their wake.

 

* * *

 

“Where _ are  _ we?”  Marian peered into the darkness in front of her, letting her free hand trail along the wall of the tunnel.  One turn, then another, then an alley, then another alley, down some stairs—always fucking stairs in this city, she had a fantastic ass, but at what cost?—and now they were… somewhere.

 

“Oh dear,” Anders muttered.

 

Everyone froze.  Anders had two kinds of ‘oh dear’  One was a general, multipurpose ‘oh dear’ that could mean anything from  _ I spilled beer on my only clean robes left _ or  _ one of my patients bit me _ .  The  _ other _ ‘oh dear’ was.  Not good. Then the mage sighed.

 

“We’re in the bad part of Darktown.”

 

Illuminated by the mage fire in the palm of her hand, Merrill’s face scrunched up in confusion.

 

“There’s a nice part of Darktown?  Oh! That sounded mean, I didn’t. It’s just… well, not so nice in general, I didn’t know where were  _ worse _ parts.”

 

“Unfortunately, yes there are worse parts,” Anders lamented.  

 

“And yer about to find out how much worse it is,” a gruff voice drawled.  A band of scruffy men shuffled into the corona of Merrill’s mage-light, and Marian swung her head around like an annoyed bull.  She smiled, and it was like a sword slash across her face.

 

“For you,” she drawled back, and she shoulder-checked the first thug.  Fenris was right behind her, slamming the next one into the wall so hard the other man slumped in a boneless heap.  Merrill’s hand curled into a claw and roots rose from the ground to render a pair of them immobile, and Isabela kicked the last man right between his legs while she took a swig of rum.  In moments, Marian had the leader pinned on the ground, his leg wrenched back with one arm and she sat on his back.

 

“Oh Maker, who the fuck are you people?” he screamed as he tried to wiggle away from her.  From the fuzzy depths of her mind, she remembered how this whole evening started and she wondered how they had gone from the Hanged Man with the dice to here.

 

“That woman sitting on your back” Anders said cheerfully.  Excessively cheerfully. “Is the Champion of Kirkwall.” The thug whimpered suddenly and tried to scramble away again.  Marian wrenched the leg back a notch further and he bit off a scream.

 

“Oh dear, you didn’t know did you?” Isabela added.  She idly picked her nails with a dagger from her boot.  “Poor things. I’m sure you had such promising careers, too.”

 

“Hawke, why haven’t you killed him yet?” Fenris growled.  His fingers twitched, the sharp points of his gauntlets gleaming in the light of the little ball of mage fire that flickered on Merrill’s palm.

 

“Because, he can help us.  Or I hope he can help us. Because you’re a good and helpful citizen of Kirkwall, aren’t you?” Marian asked with drunken sweetness.  The thug nodded.

 

“Would be an honor to help, Messre Hawke.  An honor, truly. Help you any way I can.” Sweat dripped down into the man’s eyes, and Hawke glanced at Fenris.

 

“Show him the dice.”

 

With a grumble, Fenris fished a die out of a pocket and held it up to the thug’s face, with the mystery pictogram facing him.

 

“Now.  You’re going to help us figure out what this means,” Marian told him.  The still nameless thug—in theory he had a name, but thugs seemed to just appear out of the woodwork when her back was turned, there was no point in learning who they were—goggled at the die. Then he squinted at it and cocked his head trying to get a better view of it.

 

“Need more light?”  Merrill’s high voice broke the silence as she brought her mage-light closer.  

 

“Thanks,” the thug muttered.  “Hard to tell what it is.”

 

“We’re going to trust what a random Darktown thug says about this?” Fenris asked sharply.

 

“Could be worth a try,” Isabela retorted.

 

“I really can’t tell!” the thug protested.

 

“Try harder,” Fenris growled.  Marian didn’t even wrench his leg, but he winced all the same.  The thug peered at the die, sweating even more. If he kept up like this, keeping him pinned would be like trying to hold on to a greased pig.  Which she had done once.

 

“Look!  I can’t tell what it is!  Alright?!” His voice squeaked and broke, and his eyes rolled like a frightened animals’, trying to keep an eye on everyone at the same time.  

 

Marian grunted in disgust and let the thug go.  He rolled away and tried to scramble back, but not before she caught up to him and planted one booted foot heavily on his back.  He flopped back into the dirt with a pained  _ ooph _ .

 

“Best guess, come on.  I know you’ve got one,” she demanded.

 

“Alright!  Alright! I think!  Maybe! It could be… a boat?”

 

“A boat?  What the fuck would we do with a boat in Hightown?  Pretend to row it through the courtyard?” Isabela asked.  She twirled her dagger in her hand and then sheathed it. “Never mind, this one’s an idiot.  Fenris, you were right.”

 

“Truly, Isabela, I will treasure this moment,” Fenris deadpanned.  “Forever.”

 

“Shut up,” Marian said as an idea began to push up through the fog of alcohol.  No one listened.

 

“I mean, there are some things we could do with a boat, but getting it to Hightown is the bigger question,” Anders said.  He crossed his arms and frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose I could do it.

 

“Thank you so much, you’ve been very helpful,” Merrill said, kneeling in front of the once again prone thug.

 

“Kitten, you should really get away from him,” Isabela warned.  She moved and pulled Merrill away, and the elven girl waved as she was pulled along by the pirate.

 

“You’re going to move it with magic!” Fenris accused, glaring at Anders.

 

“Shut up!” Marian said, but still no one paid attention to her.  She’d figured it out. She really had! It was hilarious, and she was going to do it.  If these idiots she called friends would just shut their stupid mouths!

 

“What of it?!  Do you really want to haul a boat up all those stairs?!” Anders shouted.

 

“Better honest work than--”

 

“SHUT UP!”  Marian’s shout rang out throughout the tunnels of Darktown.  Even the rats stopped squeaking. All eyes turned to her, and she was gratified that she had their attention.  A gleeful smirk stole across her face, and her blue eyes lit up wild delight. “I know what it means.”

 

“Oh, that’s good!” Merrill enthused.  Marian’s smirk grew wider, making the others shuffle away.  Even the thug struggled weakly under her boot.

 

“Yeah, it really is.”

 

* * *

 

“I changed my mind, this isn’t good,” Merrill said, voice trembling.  She clutched the sides the of the small boat and braced herself at the back.  Marian held the boat steady at the stop of the stairs, the stairs that started in Hightown and if she aimed it right, could get them all the way to Lowtown.  Back to the Hanged Man for more drinks! And maybe another round of dice.

 

“I can’t believe you talked us all into this.”  Anders wasn’t faring much better. Everyone was in the boat, and suddenly cared far too much about their own personal safety. This was going to be  _ fine _ .  Well, everyone except her and Isabela.  The other woman had downed nearly all the rum she had salvaged from that estate, and stood in the prow like a figurehead.  

 

“To the sea!  Let’s sail this vessel!” Isabela called into the stillness of the Hightown night.

 

“Fenris, get in,” Marian ordered, glancing down at the boat pointedly.  Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in silent refusal.  “Come on, you scaaaaaaaared?”

 

“I hate how that works,” Fenris bit out, and climbed into the boat with a bristling, indignant anger.  Marian smiled and whooped, giving no one time to back out as she leapt into the boat and teetered. Anders and Merrill tried to throw their weight against the back of the boat, but Marian out-weighed them both easily and the boat ever so slowly tipped forward.

 

The nose dipped down and they speed down the stairs.  Screams filled the night and Marian’s ears as they bumped and skidded down the stairs, the wood of the boat cracking and splintering on the stone.  Their momentum carried them across a courtyard and they hit another set of stairs. A set of stairs that turned.

 

Merrill’s shrill cry made Marian wince, and Anders tried to leap out, but Fenris caught him by the back of his robes and sat him back down.  The stoic elf was the only one not yelling, but Marian could hear how much he hated this by the gritting of his teeth. She laughed wildly, madly, and heaved the boat to the side.  Just in time, they careened around the corner and bumped and thudded down more stairs. 

 

On the last landing, just before the Hanged Man, they came down hard on an out of place stone on the staircase, and the boat split in two.  They tumbled down the stairs, end over end. Merrill cried out, her palm bleeding from a shaft of wood, and she wove a spell around all of them, cushioning their fall.  They still landed hard, sprawled and splayed on the stones of a Lowtown street, the breath knocked out of them. 

 

Anders rolled onto his hands and knees and started to examine them all, though he kept shaking his head like his own vision wasn’t quite right.  Marian flopped over and let her eyes track up to the sky as she slowly got her wind back. 

 

“Hey,” Marian said quietly into the night.  Her friends, who were too kind and went along with every crazy scheme she had, turned to her.  “That was fun.”

 

“Fun?!  That was  _ fun?! _ ” Anders shouted angrily at her.  “You almost got us killed!”

 

“Though, if you think about it, how is that different from most of what we do?” Merrill asked.

 

“She’s got you there, boy.”  Isabela grinned, throwing an arm around Merrill and pointing imperiously at Anders.

 

“She’s mad,” Fenris stated flatly.  

 

“Merrill?” Isabela asked.

 

“No.”  Fenris shook his head.  “Hawke.”

 

A grin tugged at Marian’s lips and a laugh built in chest, and at Fenris’s declaration of her insanity, she possibly proved him right by letting the laughter loose.  There was a round of sighs and shaking heads, and Marian heaved herself up off the ground. Then she held her hands out to her friends. One by one she hauled them up and helped them dust off as best they could.

 

“Alright, next round’s on me,” she promised.  “Come on, let’s go back inside.”

 

“Just one thing, Hawke,” Anders said.  

 

“What’s that?”

 

“No more dice?”

 

“Aw.

 

“Agreed,” Fenris said.  Marian blinked. They were  _ agreeing? _  These two?

 

“I might have to ask the same thing,” Merrill said.  “It can be very fun, and I know you like them, but maybe that was a bit much?”

 

Marian’s jaw hung open in shock.  

 

“I might have to agree there, Hawke,” Isabela said as she pouted down at her now rum-stained shirt.  

 

This was remarkable.  This was unprecedented.  This was awful.

 

Marian kicked at a hunk of wooden debris and sighed.  “ _ Fine _ , no more dice tonight.”  

 

Isabela wrapped an arm around Marian’s shoulders and squeezed.  “Oh Hawke, we mean for forever.”

 

“You all agree on this?”  They all nodded with varrying degrees of enthusiasm to her question, and Marian sighed.  “Fine. No more dice ever. At least we did the last pictogram. And I guess the next round’s on me.”

 

With four cheers and one overly dramatic eye roll, they wandered back to the Hanged Man.

 

* * *

 

“Hawke.”  Marian burrowed her head under arms, trying to avoid the voice.  It was far too early for this. Something nudged her shoulder, and the voice said again, “Hawke.”

 

“Ugh, I’m  _ up _ ,” she grumbled, rolling over in bed.  Not her bed. Some bed at a room in the Hanged Man, probably.  The others were passed out in similar beds, and Varric sat in a chair next to her bed, a mug of something in his hands.  She hoped it was ale. The ale would get her to that sweet spot of functional again. Greedily, she reached for it and was happy to find that Varric was still her best and dearest friend.  In the mug was a hearty stout, good to settle the mind early in the morning. It was liquid bread, really.

 

“Heard about your escapades.  Some of the guards roused  _ me _ this morning because they couldn’t find you,” he said dryly.  

 

“Didn’t know you needed your beauty sleep,” she quipped.  He scoffed and gestured at himself and his exposed chest hair in particular.  

 

“This does not maintain itself, Hawke.  People have expectations of me, you know.”  He raised an eyebrow at her as if to dare her to impugn his manly good looks.  Hawke covered her face by tipping up the mug of ale and drinking it down. It wasn’t fair that he made her think of his damned chest hair just after she woke up.  She would be the first to admit that she had some pretty friends, but Varric’s chest hair just looked so bloody touchable.

 

“So, while you’re drinking that,” he went on as if it wasn’t strange to see a woman down a mug of ale first thing when she woke.  “I just wanted to let you know that I convinced them that Aveline doesn’t need a report on last night or your part in it.”

 

With a satisfied sigh, she finished the ale and handed the mug back to him.  He took it, and shook his head with a smirk. “Thanks, Varric, you’re the best,” she said as she hunkered back down into bed.  Maybe she could get some more sleep, that’d be nice.

 

“Oh, before I forget,” he said as he slid off the chair.  Reaching a hand into his coat pocket, he rummaged around and drew out two dice.  He offered them up to her. They were the dice! “Fenris gave these to me to hide away, but I figured you should keep them.  Call them a souvenir of a night well spent, Hawke.”

 

Marian picked up the dice and curled her fingers around them.  They were small and silly and stupid, but they were her’s. She held them to her chest and pulled a blanket back up over her shoulder.  “Best, Varric. You’re it.”

 

“I know.  Get some sleep, Hawke,” he said quietly before he left.  With a dopey grin, Marian held the dice up to her eyes, the ale already doing its good work.  She toyed with the dice between her fingers and went through all the pictograms. The ones for different locations in Kirkwall first, then the ones for all the different dares.  Then she stopped on the last pictogram. The mystery pictogram.

 

It wasn’t a goat, or a hat, or a tree, or a boat.  

 

“FUCK ME!” she yelled.  In an instant, Merrill, Isabela, Anders and Fenris all shot up in their narrow cot-beds. 

 

“Someone robbing us?” Isabela asked, knife out.

 

The others asked what she was exclaiming about, but she sat up, rage burning off all the rest of the alcohol in her system.  “We. Are. Damned. Idiots!”

 

“That’s not very nice,” Merrill whispered half under her breath.

 

“Hawke, what are you talking about?” Anders asked.

 

“The dice!” she exclaimed.

 

“How did you get those back?   _ Varric _ ,” Fenris growled, his eyes narrowing.

 

“I know what the pictogram is!” Marian said.  She looked to each of her friends faces, all of them with different expressions.  Isabela motioned for her to continue, and Merrill watched with her avid eyes. Anders sighed and a weary expression seemed fixed to his face, while Fenris kept his face studiously blank.  She inhaled. They were going to kill her for this. Weakly, she spoke, “It’s… it’s doing a handstand.”

 

For a long moment, there was stunned silence.  

 

“HAWKE!” they cried, and the shouting started in earnest.


End file.
